


The Announcement

by FallingFaintly



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M, Holding Hands, Meddling Ilsa, Romance, Smut, going public
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:33:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29839515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallingFaintly/pseuds/FallingFaintly
Summary: After an interesting phone call, Strike makes a decision.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 11
Kudos: 51





	The Announcement

“No, Ilsa,” said Strike gruffly. 

“I don’t know why you’re being so difficult, Corm,” Ilsa replied.

“I’m not being… difficult,” he insisted, throwing his head back, emphasising the last word.

“Oh for god’s sake, stop being such a drama queen too,” she said, “I’ve tried subtle, and it’s not like I’m suggesting something horrible to you.”

Strike was momentarily silent, his eyes screwed up and his mouth falling slack.

“Corm?” Ilsa’s voice was loud through the phone at Strike’s ear.

“Subtle?!” He replied quickly, opening his eyes. Robin grinned at him. “Subtle, Ils?... oh god…”

Robin’s hand hadn’t stopped moving on him since he’d answered the call, pressing the length of her prone, naked form against him, and now she was touching kisses to his neck.

“Well you keep needing the obvious pointed out. You’re an incredibly dense guy for a detective sometimes,” Ilsa defended herself lightly.

“I’m fully aware of everything that matters,” Strike told her, and Robin moved her kisses from his neck to his jawline, and then placed one on his mouth. She hooked her leg over his hips, her tongue touching her top lip as she held his gaze.

“Look, Ilsa, I’ve got to…”

“Oh really?” Ilsa was undeterred, missing the tone in Strike’s voice to indicate the phone call should end. “You’re fully aware that she’s into you? I’m a woman, mate, I know exactly what’s on the cards.”

Robin had pushed herself upright on his chest, allowing her thigh to slip fully to the other side of him. She sat straddling him, her hair a mussed up halo of red gold, and resumed her languid grip on his length.

“I don’t think you do,” choked out Strike, and Robin stifled a giggle.

“And you know you like her. It’s so bloody obvious. Plain as the nose on my face!”

“There are other metaphors,” Strike said, and deliberately thrust his hips under Robin, destabilizing her while she was still trying to hold the giggle quiet.

“I think that’s a simile, actually,” Ilsa replied tartly. “And don’t try and change the subject. This has been going on long enough.”

“I have to disagree,” he replied. Robin had taken hold of him again and was drawing herself a little higher, lining him up against her. As he felt her soft folds against him, he couldn’t quite keep his quivering out-breath silent.

“Are you all right?” Ilsa asked.

Robin began her descent on him, her eyes locked on his.

“Yes,” he breathed, his free hand running up Robin’s thigh, over her hip and splaying out on her stomach. “I really need to g…”

“Oh, hold on Corm, I need to answer the door, expecting a delivery,” Ilsa said, and he heard the sound of her phone being placed down.

He dropped his phone on the pillow beside him and thrust his hips again, this time into Robin, who made a sultry noise of appreciation.

“Has she gone?” Robin asked in a stage whisper, falling forward and beginning to swirl her hips in circles around him as he moved into her in a slow rhythm. He slipped his hands around her hips and squeezed her backside, reaching up to meet her kiss.

“Don’t think so. She’s answering the door. I am trying to get rid of her, ok, but you’re distracting me,” he murmured. Robin up the pace a little.

“Do you want me to apologize?” She asked.

“No,” he replied.

“Do you want me to stop?” She bit in his lower lip gently.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growled.

“Sorry! He was having trouble with his dooflip on the parcel!” Ilsa’s tinny voice came through the phone on Strike’s pillow. Robin couldn’t help snorting, and Strike grinned broadly, reaching for the phone.

“His what?” Strike asked, amused despite himself.

“His dooflip, you know, the zapper for the barcode,” Ilsa explained.

“Right,” Strike replied, pulling a face at Robin, who smiled a wide smile and then seemed to decide the continued phone call was the cue to really begin riding him. She pushed herself back up, her hands stroking down his chest, rolling her pelvis on him intently.

“Anyway, where were we?” Ilsa was warming up again.

“Er, I’m on an important surveillance thing, so…”

“Oh stop lying, you’ve already told me you’re still in bed, you lazy sod,” Ilsa chided. “Some of us keep sensible hours and get up at a reasonable time.”

“Ilsa, I promise you, I’m up,” Strike replied, and winked at Robin.

“Whatever. Are you going to come or what?” Ilsa asked.

“What?” Strike asked, his full attention brought back to the phone call for one horrible moment of crossed wires.

“Tonight. I’ve already asked Robin and she said yes. If she’s ok with it, I don’t know what your problem is. I’ll stop nagging if you’re there,” Ilsa tried again.

“Now who’s lying?” Strike managed, finding the effort to keep his voice even becoming too much. Robin had taken her hands from his torso and was running them up into her hair, beginning to lose herself, and the image was pushing Strike beyond his limits.

“ _Please,”_ Ilsa whined.

“Please,” Robin breathed, clearly too far gone to maintain the subterfuge.

Strike made a quick calculation. “Fine, Ils. I’ll be there. Now sod off and open your parcel, I need breakfast,” he said, and clicked the end call button as Ilsa started making squeaking noises of delight, turning his full attention to the satisfying task of helping his partner come apart above him.

  
  


“You’re sure about this?” Robin asked as they stood at the door of Nick and Ilsa’s house.

“I am, yeah. We’ve had a few weeks, but I haven’t got the energy to keep this going,” Strike insisted. “Especially after this morning.”

“Ok,” Robin smiled. “I’ll follow your lead.”

Nick opened the door and stepped forward to clap Strike on the shoulder.

“Oggy! Robin! You made it!” he said loudly, and as though she had been summoned by Nick’s announcement, Ilsa appeared and skipped towards them.

“Yay!” she said, hugging both of them in turn. “Come on in, there’s quite a few here already.”

She winked at Strike and smiled at her husband as she turned back into the house. Nick smiled ruefully and shook his head apologetically at Strike as he followed her.

“Come on, let’s get you a drink,” he said, walking in front of them. “Just put your coats on the stairs, I’ll put them in the spare room in a minute.”

Strike shrugged off his coat and helped Robin out of hers. She was wearing a pretty ditzy print dress, the kind that swished around her hips when she moved. He was wearing a crisp white shirt, the cuffs rolled back a few inches, and dark trousers. He caught her eye for one last moment of delicious secrecy, one more moment where this really was just for them. Then he nodded. They walked down the hall, and as they entered the room where the rest of the guests were, and Nick stood holding out a beer in both hands, Strike casually reached down and took hold of Robin’s hand, entwining his fingers in hers. He looked at Nick, watching his eyebrows go up, and a smile of recognition spread across his face.

“Mate,” Nick said, as the couple walked to retrieve the beers he offered them. “Smooth.”

“Cheers,” Strike said, taking his bottle with a grin.

“Thanks,” Robin said, taking hers with an irrepressible smile.

“Of course, you do know Ilsa is going to claim all the credit for this,” Nick laughed, picking up his own drink.

“Well,” said Strike, catching Robin’s eye, “she could make a case for it.”

He leaned down and put a gentle kiss, full of promise, against Robin’s lips. A second later Ilsa’s ecstatic voice could be heard over the chatter and the music.

“Oh my _GOD_!”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a delightful gif - a waist shot of a couple just walking in a room and taking hold of each other's hands. Seemed like a very Strike way of going public: understated, confident and respectful. But I also like writing funny and sexy too, so sorry about that.


End file.
